


Taking Care of Business

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse, mentions of Daryl/Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle decides to go on the salvage trip to Atlanta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care of Business

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt 'sixth sense'
> 
> Merle is a racist. His views are not mine.
> 
> * * *

Sun’s been up for two goddamn hours and the salvaging group’s still jerkin’ off over by the tents.

Merle huffs out a snort as he bends over the bike, adjusts the straps around the saddlebag. Ignores the trickle of sweat sliding down his spine. Watches. Listens.

The group’s loosely gathered around the chinaman as he runs through his plan into the city one more fucking time. Talk, that’s all they do. Talk ‘til they’re blue in the face if you let ‘em, ‘til the supplies are dwindled down to nothin’ and they’re boiling their damn shoes to stay alive. Useless, all of ‘em. Bunch of spades and spics and that damn chink in the middle, actin’ like he’s so damn important all of a sudden.

The gook’s real careful not to look their way. And Daryl’s bent over his crossbow, checkin’ it over ‘fore they head out on the hunt. Each of ‘em pretending like they don’t even see the other, don’t even know the other one exists.

But ol’ Merle? He knows. He sees everything. 

Sees the way they look at each other when they think nobody’s lookin’. The chinaman’s eyes slidin’ over his little brother’s body like it was a damn all you can eat buffet. And Daryl? He ain’t exactly chasin’ the gook off with a stick, now is he? Sittin’ by the fire last night, Daryl got real quiet. But Merle could see the way he watched the chinaman over the flames, flickin’ his eyes down whenever the kid glanced his way.

Yeah, Merle knows. He got a sense about this shit. Always has, ever since Daryl got old enough to tell the difference ‘tween men and women. He’s been makin’ sure his little brother stayed on the straight and narrow ever since, and he ain’t about to stop now.

He stands, decision made, and throws his rifle over his shoulder. Only takes him a couple of long strides to reach the group, still hemmin’ and hawin’ over which route to take into the city. 

“Better make room for one more,” he calls out as he passes them on the way to the truck. “I’m comin’ along to keep your sorry asses in line.”

He don’t have to look to know they’re givin’ him the stink eye, though none of the little pansies will say a good goddamn word to stop him. He does see Daryl’s head whip up, sees the aborted movement to rise before he settles uneasily back in the camp chair. Yeah, his little brother ain’t gonna say shit, either. 

Merle climbs into the passenger seat, props his boot on the dash and his rifle on his lap. Finds he’s lookin’ forward to gettin’ away from the damn camp, from the thousand yard stares of that good ol’ boy cop and the sniveling and whining of the brats. Might be he could even get himself some of that blonde pussy on this run. After all, who the hell’s gonna stop him? Couple of niggers and a greaseball?

And it might be that chink will find himself surrounded by a bunch o’ walkers, cut off from the group. Might get hurt, unable to run. City’s a dangerous place. Who knows what might happen?


End file.
